


Unintentional Goat Herder

by pherryt



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [18]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (it's more in passing and not serious but it's there), Angst, Brief thought of suicide, Goats, Healing, Hopeful Ending, PTSD, Supportive Sam, Wakanda, low self worth, nothing happens to the goats, recovering Bucky Barnes, talk with sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: Bucky's in Wakanda, healing - trying to, anyway - but what's with all the goats?
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1416790
Comments: 22
Kudos: 37
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2019





	Unintentional Goat Herder

**Author's Note:**

> written for the Bucky barnes bingo square: rearing goats  
> no, i have no idea how a fic about goats and bucky got so angsty
> 
> this is probably my last square off the card. i have 3 more, technically, but one isn't going to get filled and i DID fill the other two but they wound up being part of a bigger, more massive story that i've written 1/3 of and that 1/3 (around 21k so far) is off for beta ... so it's not gonna make it...
> 
> also, i didn't write this as sam / bucky so i didn't tag it, BUT i think it can read either way. enjoy ;D
> 
> if you think i missed a tag, please let me know

James didn’t know what he’d have done without Wakanda, without King T’Challa and Princess Shuri and the understanding they’d brought to the table, the help they’d been able to give him.

It wasn’t long after Steve had brought him there, leaving him in cryo – by James’s request - that he awakened in Shuri’s lab. James had stiffened in fear, eyes wide as they darted around the room, taking in the red garbed guards with spears, the lack of fear on the young girls’ face.

She’d treated him gently, in some ways, in some moments, and then was treating him with the usual, near universal, disregard all teens seemed to have towards their elders to some degree. Not in a way that meant she didn’t respect him – not that he deserved it – but in a way that meant she… _accepted him._

James had almost cried when he realized that. That anyone could, even – or maybe especially - without the history that he and Steve had, when he couldn’t accept himself, couldn’t bear to hear his own name… it felt overwhelmingly monumental.

In the following weeks, with much poking and prodding, Shuri purged the codes from his mind, helped him recover _some_ parts of himself, but –

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes,” she said with a sad shrug. “The mind is a delicate thing and there are some treatments that are still impossible, even for Wakanda and our considerable advancements.”

“But, the Nazi’s or HYDRA or whoever, they did this to me in the first place – can’t it be undone?” He clung to the tiny sliver of hope that it _could_ be, that he could be whole again, despite the lack of arm. If he could at least get his memories back, find the self he’d once been…

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. They went in with brute force, the equivalent of axes and blunt instruments, hacking away at the root code of your mind. They didn’t _care_ if they broke you in the process… it would have only made it easier to program you. The only thing I can recommend is time and patience, and a _really_ good ear.”

James slumped wearily where he sat on the edge of the table, his hair – far longer than he’d ever worn it, he thinks – falling in his face. He’d known the answer already. She was right, of course, but he’d been unable to keep the question to himself.

“Do not worry, Sergeant Barnes. You will have peace here. You can heal in your own time,” T’Challa said from behind him. James almost jumped, except he just didn’t have the mental energy left to be startled.

He was exhausted. Exhausted from HYDRA, exhausted from running, exhausted by whatever Shuri had just done to his head, exhausted by his dying hopes, his failures, the impossibilities. Exhausted from trying to just fucking remember – not just who he was, but how to _be_ a person.

He'd been working on it for a year and he’d been making progress till fucking Zemo and the bombing and the airport, and that last, horrific battle with Stark.

James couldn’t _not_ defend himself, or Steve, but he’d watched how the battle with Iron Man had torn Steve up from the inside.

He had done that to them. To whatever they had been to each other. James had ruined more lives just by _existing._

He should have just let Steve kill him, only the punk had refused to even lift a finger once he’d accomplished his goal and even before that, had fought only defensively, unwilling to hurt James more than he had to.

Steve would never have done it.

Something must have shown in his face, because T’Challa gestured to James to stand. “Follow me.”

They’d walked through the lab, into the palace, escorted the whole way by a host of bodyguards, like James didn’t know already that the king was a rather formidable fighter himself.

James was only lucky that T’Challa had finally believed them when they’d explained how James had been set up, and equally lucky when he’d given James sanctuary in Wakanda.

He was, if he was not mistaken, the first outsider allowed there in so many years, no one could count them.

“Where are we going?” James finally asked when he was led outside the palace for the first time.

“To a place where you can heal,” T’Challa said. “It _is_ beautiful, though you may have to fight the goats for space on the bed.”

James blinked. “Goats?” he asked faintly.

“Goats,” T’Challa said, a grin spreading across his face and mischief twinkling in his eyes.

* * *

It wasn’t long before James was looking at the unassuming building in confusion. It was nothing like the palace or the surrounding city and while it fit into the landscape itself, it _didn’t_ fit into the picture of the advanced country James had come to know.

Nor were there any goats to be seen. T’Challa had to have been yanking his chain.

As if knowing exactly where James’s thoughts had turned (at least some of them), T’Challa waved a hand towards the hut. “I assure you, Sergeant Barnes, that Wakandan huts are far superior to those from outside our borders. It merely looks like this for the aesthetic.”

Okay, King or not, this guy _had_ to be fucking with him.

“We thought it best to keep it simple. In this place, you will have all the privacy you desire. We hope that you can find peace, here,” T’Challa said.

Peace was really all Bucky wanted. Peace from his nightmares. Peace from the world that hunted him. Peace from HYDRA, who wanted him back and didn’t care who was hurt in the meantime. Release from expectations, from his fears. Jesus…

He took a shaky breath, focusing back on the king.

“The hut really does have more than it appears,” T’Challa said, leading James inside, the Dora Milaje remaining outside after a curt nod from their king. All except one. Okoye, James thought with approval. He’d been a weapon, for so long. It was best to keep an eye on him. He assumed there would be discrete guards placed somewhere around the grounds here as well. He would do it if it were him.

T’Challa was gesturing around the hut as he spoke and it was, in fact, more lavish than James had expected, even with the king’s assurances. T’Challa pointed out a few things as they went through the small space.

The main room had a small table with a wall set up as a kitchen. There were several cupboards, a bed with drawers, a closet off to one side and a privacy curtain which – considering the cloaks of these people, and what they could do - was probably better than a fucking _wall,_ and at the back were two doors made of the same strange cloth as the entrance and the privacy wall.

One turned out to be a bathroom, the other to a staircase leading into the ground. James stared at it nervously and hoped the nerves didn’t show, pushing it aside for now. He could explore that later, when the king and his guard were gone and there would be no witnesses should he break down.

“Our people are adept at disguises, at hiding in plain sight, but also in treating the land better than our neighbors have. There is air, electricity, communications.” T’Challa pointed to one wall, and it transformed before James’s eyes into screens and controls. “Should you need anything, call. Otherwise, every few days, someone will be by with news and supplies.”

The king turned and gave James a wry smile. “Also, my sister has requested your presence in the lab at least once a week – and if you don’t, she’s very likely to come and check on you herself.”

James felt something twist inside him, at the kindness of the King – at the _continued_ kindness of him and his people. At the fact that he had personally been attended to - not by just the king, but by the king’s _sister_ and their personal guards.

After _everything_ he’d done.

He didn’t deserve it. But everyone kept telling him otherwise. Maybe… maybe he should believe them? Unable to speak, James just nodded. T’Challa didn’t push, didn’t touch James – none of them touched him without asking first, something he was truly grateful for – but he nodded back.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” the king said – didn’t ask – as he exited the hut. James expected Okoye to follow immediately but she stayed where she was, that unflinching, unnerving stare of hers piercing him to his core.

Then she gave him the slightest of nods, turned on her heel, and departed.

James felt more than a little confused as to what any of that meant. He was exhausted in so many ways right now, despite his days having been filled with so little in the way of physical activity. But all the work he’d been doing with Shuri, all the nightmares, the guilt, it was taking its toll.

He stared at the bed and for a few seconds the desire to just crawl into it, curl up into a ball and not move for hours was strong – but the urge to familiarize himself with all the possible nooks and crannies of the unknown space was greater.

He prowled about the hut, first just looking, then poking into things. There wasn’t anything too surprising, though he found a trunk full of books, of yarn and needles – those would be useless to him, unless there was a way to knit one handed - of paper and pens and other things. Things that could occupy his mind or his hands, should he so choose. He closed the lid and continued to work his way around till at last he was at the door that revealed the staircase.

For a second, the brightly lit staircase was clouded over with a memory of dark concrete, damp walls, flickering lights, terror and then it was gone again. He was shaking. He didn’t want to go down the stairs, but he _needed_ to know what was there, for his own peace of mind. James would never be able to sleep otherwise, imagining any and all sorts of monsters lurking in the dark below him.

Setting his teeth, he pushed himself forward, each step an agonizing, tensing thing, muscles going tight, breath speeding up.

The asset would never have hesitated.

But then, what was behind the asset had always been worse than what was in front of it.

Of him.

The stairs curved gently and before James realized it, he was at the bottom. Here were more shelves, more cabinets, more trunks, the space as brightly lit as the staircase itself. The shelves held more books, some games – most he didn’t recognize, but the pack of cards was welcome – and some decorations. Little carved wolves, rhinos, goats and other animals. The trunks held blankets, the cabinets turned out to contain food and one of the cabinets was, in fact, a second, bigger fridge than the one upstairs. A few chairs and another table was set in the center of the space and as James explored, his body relaxed.

No monsters hiding underneath his bed.

Just the ones inside his head.

* * *

True to the king’s word, nobody bothered James.

Unless you counted the goats.

Because there were. Goats. Just like T’Challa had first mentioned.

James had stayed inside the rest of that first day and, in fact, the next few days past that, letting himself get familiar, _comfortable,_ inside the space the King had gifted him. It was too much, and yet exactly what he wanted. But neither was it entirely… right, something still off about the space that would catch him off guard in the middle of a meal, or a book.

Still, it was more right than anything else he’d yet tried, or done, or places he’d been.

On the fifth day, sounds outside the door of his hut finally lured James out to investigate and he felt more at ease than he’d thought he would. There was a lake not too far away, one that he’d only really noted in passing when the king had first brought him here. There were mountains and fields, and everything was goddamn gorgeous and so unlike the city he’d grown up in.

He thought he’d miss that.

He found he didn’t.

Movement in the distance drew his eyes and he noticed silhouettes of people moving around, specks weaving in and around each other, far away but still far closer than James would have liked. There were, now that he looked, the shapes of other huts in the distance as well.

How had he missed that?

But more importantly, though none had yet bothered him, there were people over there, and they were far too close for his liking.

What if he snapped? What if he had a nightmare and lost himself? He was dangerous. He shouldn’t be anywhere near people. People were… breakable.

He turned away, ready to run back inside, and tripped over the black and white goat that had snuck up behind him.

What the fuck?

When had _that_ gotten there?

* * *

James woke up to a goat nibbling on his hair. He shoved the goat off, but it was back only a second later. He repeated the process, only to find himself in a strange, one armed wrestling match with a goat determined to climb into his bed and bother him.

Groggily, James declared, “That’s it, I’m naming you ‘Becca. She never could let me sleep in either.”

And then froze, as a vague memory of a small child, a little girl in pigtails and a wide, adoring grin, snuck into his room as he pretended to sleep, pretended to be put out when she pouted and insisted he get up. Then turning and pouncing on the giggling girl, tickling her till the giggles became shrieks of laughter…

Caught so unawares mid-wrestle, James dropped onto his ass on the floor, all the breath leaving him at once.

‘Becca. His sister.

Jesus Christ.

He’d forgotten his own _sister_.

He didn’t even realize the tears were rolling down his face until the goat nudged into his personal space and nuzzled into his hair before licking up the salty trails.

“How did you even get _in_ here?” James asked around the lump in his throat, trying to distract himself, change the subject in his own mind. He knew he should pursue the memory, but it hurt.

Because that little girl was long gone. Even if his sister _was_ still alive, she’d be old, frail, as unrecognizable to him as he was sure to be to her.

Fuck, even if ‘Becca _was_ still alive, he’d never want her to see him like this... to even know a fraction of the things he’d gone through, the things he’d done…

The goat bleated at him and turned around like a dog before settling into his lap. James looked up at the fabric flapping lightly in the morning breeze and sighed. “Right, because I don’t know how to make the cloth impervious.”

The goat bleated again, as if in agreement, then turned and started chewing on his hair. Again.

He stared at the goat.

It kept chewing.

He wasn’t going to call the royal family because of a _goat._ Besides, it was kinda cute, he thought, as his hand moved of its own accord to scratch tentatively at the goats’ head. The goat leaned into it but didn’t stop chewing his hair. The contact felt… soft, nice. Warm.

It was just one goat.

He could handle one goat.

* * *

It wasn’t just one goat. The next day there were three goats. All of them inside the hut. One of them had dragged his blanket right off of him.

The day after that, there were five goats, which he discovered because one, apparently, liked to dance. On his roof. And it never got tired because it went on _all_ night. It had no rhythm.

James named it Steve.

The day after _that_ day, there were _ten_ goats, and some of them started quibbling on his front lawn or… whatever the expanse of greenery around his hut was called. They were rather loud, all bleating and stamping.

They were also chewing everything. He didn’t think they were actually _eating_ everything, but they were _definitely_ chewing and therefore destroying things. And getting into his stuff, what little of it he was letting himself think of as his.

And if anything turned up missing it was either in the grass outside of his hut, or in the goats’ stomach.

Which meant that James spent his days trying to chase an increasing number of goats out of the hut. It was a nice hut, but rather too small for _that_ many goats.

One, he’d been okay with one. He could have maybe pushed it when one had become three. But five? _Ten?_ What if there were _more_ out there, just laying in wait? What if he was going to drown in goats?

_Could_ you drown in goats?

So yeah, it had been several days and James was losing the battle of the goats. Badly. He was still debating the wisdom of calling T’Challa or his sister for help, which he obviously needed, when a full-on giggle made his head whip up and around to witness Princess Shuri herself trying to stifle a laugh (and obviously failing) behind her hand. “They’ve got your scent now, White Wolf.”

He ignored the ridiculous name and grumbled as he pushed the goat back out of the hut. “Just show me how to make this thing a door. Like, a solid, actual door. I’d like to keep my hair.”

Thankfully, Shuri stopped laughing at him and _did_ show him how to work with the magical cloth, chattering away as she did. It was actually pleasant, even with the offer of a new arm (and his rejection of the offer yet again) after the quiet of the last week and a half. Maybe this place had been as good for him as the king had hoped.

As she made to leave, though, she paused by the door. Hesitancy entered her demeanor, startling James as she finally spit out in a breathless rush. “You have a visitor, if you think you’re up for it.”

“Thought that was you,” he grumbled. He wasn’t looking forward to any visitors. Shuri and the goats were probably his limit for the day.

He said yes anyway.

James was a guest here. How could he say no?

* * *

Wilson wasn’t who he’d been expecting. James thought he did a good job of hiding the shock, but the smirk on Wilsons face made him think he might not have.

“What are you doing here?” James scowled.

“Needed a breather, thought I'd check in on everyone's least favorite assassin while I was at it.” Wilsons smirk grew. James wasn’t sure what to make of him anymore.

“Steve told you to, didn’t he?” he should have known the Wakandans would have told Steve they’d woken him. His scowl deepened.

“Man, Steve had puppy dog eyes. There ain't nothing fair about Captain America using those eyes to make you do shit,” Sam said, the smirk falling off his face to something more disgruntled. The scowl on James’s face lessened, though it didn’t fall into a smile.

“'Fraid that's all Steve. He perfected it when he was a skinny little punk that would fall over if you breathed wrong,” James said. The memory came to him suddenly, but it wasn’t as painful as the ones about his family. Maybe because of the disconnect he still felt between the two Steve's... who the fuck knew anymore.

“Man, is he eating your roof?” Wilson asked, staring up after the goat that made James’s head hurt more often than the rest with his hands in his hips.

“Yeah, I call that one Steve,” James said, also staring up at the idiot standing on the top of his roof. Again.

Wilson snorted. “Oh yeah? Is that its name?”

“How the fuck should I know? They just keep coming back and I had to call them something when I yelled at them.”

“So why’s that one Steve?”

“Because he’s the littlest and he keeps jumping into or offa shit without looking first,” James said sourly.

Wilson guffawed, doubling over and leaning his hands on his knees. “Oh man, oooooh man, that’s great.”

Huh. Maybe this guy wasn’t so bad after all. James knew that most of his dislike came from being the asset, from having to fight Wilson. That it was the guilt for shoving the man over the side of one of those large helicarriers, for being the reason he and others were on the run from governments across the world. But still, it came as almost a surprise.

The settled in on the ground outside, against the side of the sunwarmed hut as they watched the goats playing. One reared up on it’s hind legs and James had a split second of thinking this goat was going to go after something, or someone, but then it hopped forward a few steps, fell forward onto all four hooves again, lowered it’s neck and ripped at the grass as if it had never had an ill thought in its head.

That was mostly true, unless you counted the rampant destruction of personal property.

Wilson gave him space, not touching, nor crowding, but one of the goats – ‘Becca, of course – held no such compunctions and was in his lap in an instant, like an overgrown lapdog. James had given up trying to push her away, not when he really wanted to keep her close.

He’d gotten attached to fucking goats. What was his life?

“Steve know you’re awake?”

“You see him anywhere?” James countered without thinking. Then he paused. Wait, Steve _didn’t_ know he was awake? Had the king not told him? Why was Sam here, then? Why would Steve send Sam to check on James if he expected James to still be frozen?

Wilson snorted. “Good point,” he acceded. He looked James over from head to toe, then continued talking. “Man, you’re looking good, though. Healthier, rested, more at peace.’

James shrugged, chest tight. He didn’t want to admit it but he had to warn everyone around him he was still unstable. “I have good days and bad.”

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Wilson said and James swallowed, looking away from him, away from the confirmation that he was messed up beyond saving. “Even without all that Winter Soldier fuckery HYDRA got up to, you never had a chance.”

“What?” James was startled into looking at Sam.

“PTSD, man. The war? Fuck, ain’t nobody told you about PTSD?”

He shook his head slowly. Then again, maybe somebody had tried? He couldn’t remember.

Wilson sighed and ran a hand over his head. “Shit, man. This, what you’re feeling? The nightmares, the disconnect, the worry? Being on edge all the time, all that other shit - It’s normal.”

“It is?” James whispered.

Wilson nodded at him. “You know what I did before I went vigilante with Captain fucking America?”

James shook his head.

“Worked at the VA, helping Vets come to terms with being home after their tours. Helping them readjust to a life they couldn’t reconcile any longer. The things we need to learn to survive just aren’t necessary anymore, but those are things that don’t leave us. All of them, all of _us_ , we were all changed by war and so were you, they just didn’t have a word for it then. Least, not one that wasn’t covered in shame. We all lost a piece of our selves – sometimes figurately, sometimes literally, sometimes both.”

Wilson wasn’t looking at him anymore and there was sadness on his face as his fingers pet another goat that had wandered over to them. This one wasn’t quite as small as Steve, but it was the most affectionate of the goats, though James still preferred ‘Becca. James had taken comfort in her soft presence and quiet bleats more than once since she and the other goats had invaded his life.

“You ain’t alone in this, Barnes, and you know something? You don’t have to be.”

James’s lip quivered and a sob broke free. He reached up his hand to cover his mouth and watched it tremble through blurry vision. ‘Becca turned and butted her head into his side and he choked on another sob, falling into Wilson.

Sam.

Sam just held him quietly as he cried. The first human contact James had allowed since cryo, outside of what was necessary in the lab, and he sobbed. In Sam’s arms, James sobbed away 70 plus years of pain, a weight lifted. It wasn’t gone, but finally, _finally_ …

He felt like he could breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> p.s. they didn't realy get a place for me to do it, but i imagine bucky's named his goats - not just after his sister and steve, but also peggy, the howling commandos, his and steve's parents and any friends or family or neighbors that might have been important to them... and in a way, surrounding himself with the family he's lost, but with family that also have no expectations of him being a person he can't even remember.
> 
> also, the title REALLY fought me.


End file.
